Fallout Equestria: Blood and Sand

Chapter 2: A Mare Chooses...

“Now d'ja hear 'bout Lucky Winner? He disappeared, babe

After drawin' out all his hard-earned cash

And now Black Teeth spends just like a sailor

Could it be our colt's done somethin' rash? “

“Uh... h-hey there, Oli-”

The orange-floating pistol struck the back of my head, and I felt dizzy.

“Don’t you “hey there” me you bastahd! It took me three years to break outta dat fuckin prison!” He snarled, stamping a hoof dangerously near to my netherregions. “Give me ONE GOOD REASON why I shouldn’t blow yer brains out all ova tha sand!”

I didn’t need to answer- I heard sparks and electricity, as Victory offered a pretty damn good reason- “If you do that, I’m without a guide, and I’ll blow you to smithereens!”

Smithereens? What pony says that?

He growled- not gonna work buddy, I’ve tried it- and aimed the massive piece at her forehead. “Ya best pipe down, stumpy, or I’ll be shootin ya foist!” Clearly, his accent hadn’t grown any less cartoonish since I...

An olive-colored unicorn with the most luminescent orange mane and eyes ever seen in the wastes begged for forgiveness, tears and snot clogging his fur in a pitiful display of pathetic simpering. A metal collar fastened around his stout neck, and with a click and a beep, his fate was sealed.

I’d heard of a Saddle Arabian Standoff before, but never actually been in one- I’d always been the sort to shoot first and not give them the opportunity. But here, before my eyes, I knew neither of them would back down and they should have been more than evenly matched; Victory, however, was drunk. She was very good at being drunk, but was still...

Victory’s movement shifted as the drunken dizziness hit her.

Ah, crap.. A ten-millimeter-bullet tore through her left ear, enough to make her scream and lose balance. The bolt of energy hit a far-off skywagon, and that skywagon erupted into a small singularity. Olive Loaf, to his credit, did not so much as flinch as his grimy face split into a devilish grin. “Now, wheah were we?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It would have been a comedic sight, had we not been in mortal danger: two drunken ponies, one a unicorn with no horn and another an earth pony with no coordination, being forced by a gun-toting, black-maned orange-glowing unicorn with a huge firearm pointed at our backs.

As it was, though, it was just miserable. One, we were hammered- and I mean completely and utterly off our plots on Wild Pegasus- and we couldn’t hope to try to fight him. Two-we were incredibly, INCREDIBLY hammered, and we both knew that if this went somewhere bad, we’d both wake up with the worst hangovers known to ponykind.

I would’ve almost preferred a new hole to think out of.

We soon arrived at a town, a small one with the standard hollowed-out husks of wooden buildings and charred trees, with fires burning on every corner. The desert grew cold at night; most ponies’ coats weren’t thick enough to deal with the only-slightly-above-freezing temperature, and each pony we saw was bundled up and curled around flaming oil barrels full of wood and refuse. The town stank, too, with the scents of urine and body odour, the acrid scent of burning plastic permeating the air even more thoroughly than that. I didn’t have to imagine where we were.

Neighlson.

A filthy, grimy, disgusting town, full of the type of pony I’d been cultivating an image around to keep off my back.

Not that it would help me now.

Olive Loaf paraded us around, eventually getting us to the town hall. It was a tall building, at least three stories, and a clock which had stopped centuries ago adorned the drab, charcoal-tinged architecture. Even as he took us past a row of especially large fires (were those skeletons?) I could practically feel the slimy self-confidence leaking from his fur like skin from a cloud victim.

In my drunken state, I had only just noticed something- his mane wasn’t orange. I realize I’d stated this previously, but given the circumstances, I figure it was a perfectly fine slipup to make. I looked back at him, chancing a jab-

“You look different. Did you do something with your mane?”

CLANK!

If I weren’t so unbelievably blitzed, that would have hurt.

...More than it already did.
“OW!” I yelped, and he snickered. If I didn’t know better, I’d’ve sworn Chime did too.

“Yeh, I changed my mane. Kinda had to with alla dose slavahs out for mah HEAD! I’d still have ma gorgeous orange mane if ya hadn’ sold me inta a goddamned life a servitude!” This earned a shocked look from Victory Chime, and I stared at the dirt as her look set my chest to burning again.

“You.. YOU SOLD HIM INTO SLAVERY?”

I wanted to answer, but Loaf was sure he wanted to answer instead. “Yeah! He did! All I did was trick him outta a few caps, an he goes an sells me off to the first slava he sees!”

“A few caps? YOU COST ME THREE THOUSAND CAPS, you scummy son of a b-” Thud.

Okay. That word seemed to get me smacked an awful lot. I needed a new one.

“...Biscuit-munching... erm... shit. I got nothin.”

“Shut up and get inside, ya bastahd.” he bucked the door open, and the two of us shuffled inside, me watching the ground and Victory watching me.

The inside of the building didn’t smell any better than the outside; if anything, it was worse, because it was concentrated. No air from outside to blow the smell away as it was generated. I found myself feeling sorry for the poor bastards who were downwind from this hellhole, but I didn’t have much time to worry about it before I heard a gunshot and felt a blazing pain in my rear left hoof. It buckled from under me and I grabbed my knee reflexively, screaming muffled by his pulling a disgusting, sweat-tasting cloth between my teeth, gagging me and keeping me from reacting. Instead, I bit down as hard on it as I could, trying to ignore the agony in my hoof- that bullet must have hit bone! I sat on my haunches, growling under my breath in an attempt to release the angry tension, as the sick son of a ... buck laughed.

“Ha! Good luck tryina get outta dis place now ya stupid bastahd!” And I thought I had a limited vocabulary...

The pain kept me from noticing as a leather-barded female, earth pony and taller than either of the three of us looked us over, grey-coated with a bronze mane, and a cutie mark of spiked manacles. She spoke in an irritatingly aristocratic voice considering where we were as she drawled “MUST you rough up the merchandise, Olive?” she kicked my leg, and I screamed into the gag. “It drastically reduces the prices we can get from the slavers. I’d spare a healing potion,” she said to me this time, “Buuut you’re simply not worth the price. You’d better learn to trot on that leg, kid.” she kicked it again, and I barely held back tears as pain blossomed through my leg, the bullethole throbbing. As I sat there, tensing, Olive Loaf’s magic dropped the pistol into a holster on his back leg and pulled out... a knife. I looked at my leg, and back to him, and my ears fell to my head in despair. This was going to suck. He plunged the thin switchblade into the bullethole, and I screamed into the gag as the bigger earth pony pinned me down. The blade dug into the hole, and I was ashamed to feel tears coursing down my cheeks- in my buzzed state, emotional control was beyond me- as he dug the massive bullet from the bone. He tossed it aside, gave the gaping bulletwound one more vindictive stab, and laughed sadistically as I felt my head swim, the alcohol, exhaustion and pain finally robbing me of my consciousness.

********************************************************************************************

I woke slowly, my heart thudding in my head, hind leg screaming and every muscle in my body aching and sore. As my blurred vision slowly cleared (or at least, got HALF clear. Hangovers suck!) I saw the vague shape of steel bars, laying on a rancid mattress in the enclosed space. My hangover and my poor leg...

You asked for this, Blood Drop. my mind told me, You deserved this. I spat, shaking the thoughts from my head- of course, that only worked because shaking my head amplified the agonizing throbbing in my brainpan, a white hot searing pain consuming my vision. Slowly, very slowly, the pain stopped, and I shakily tried to stand. My hindleg wasn’t strong enough to hold me- hay, none of my limbs were right now- but I somehow managed to turn around, looking for Victory Chime. I looked.. And looked... and when I didn’t see her, a panic rose in my chest replacing all of the pain with an anxious energy. “Victory Charm? VICTORY? VICTORY WHERE ARE YOU?”

A pair of powder-blue hooves smacked the side of the cage, and I collapsed under the weight of my own body. Victory Charm looked down at me with utter disgust. “Shut up, asshole. I’m right here. Keep it down, would ya?” I was extremely relieved... until I noticed.

“Wh-why aren’t you in a cage?”

She snarled. “I convinced them that you had imprisoned me, and got me drunk to keep me from fighting back. You son of a bitch, you sold somepony to SLAVERS?” she smacked the bars, and my skull exploded into pain again. “She smacked it again, and i curled up instinctively to try to protect my brain. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“P-please, keep it d-”

She kicked the bars again. “Oh, I’m sorrryyyy, am I hurting your HEAD?” she kicked the bars again, and I shook as I attempted to push my hooves into my ears. “You bastard, you deserve this. You’re lucky I don’t kill you myself, but I’m sure the slavers will be more than happy I left you alive!”

I looked at her, and for the first time in decades, I showed just how terrified I was. “P-please, no, not that. Not slavers, please, I.. I can’t live as a slave! I did something stupid, I-I sold him to slavers because I was angry! I’m sorry!” I found myself sobbing, and admonished myself inwardly. Goddesses dammit, don’t cry! Weakness gets you killed! Despite my brain insisting I needed to shut up, I ended up curling in on myself, sobbing into my hooves.

A flashback to the day earlier- the day before? How long had I been passed out?- and Victory Charm crying, curled up just like I was now, against the sun-baked bricks. I raised a hoof, mustering all of my strength, and brought it down against my skull in an attempt to silence my crying. Charm gasped, and her eyes went wide as I saw her through the haze of pain. Fear and guilt overrode any control I might have had left, and for the first time the weight of all of these years of being just the standard bad pony in the wastes bore down on my shoulders. I brought the hoof up again, and brought it down, gritting my teeth against the tears- I didn’t need to cry. Crying was for ponies who deserved the catharsis. I brought it up again, and-

Felt Charm grabbing my hoof. I didn’t look at her, and expected her hoof to crush mine, or to hold it so she could magic it off, but it just stayed there. Her voice turned softer, as she looked at me- I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that. “Stop. Just.. stop. Hurting yourself is NOT making up for this. It’s just an exercise in self pity. Stop hurting yourself, and just... stop.” Her voice still had a hard edge to it, but a tiny bit of softness crept into it. I pulled my hoof away, and laid my head on them both. She spared one more look at me, and trotted away into the darkness, leaving me alone in my cage, and the bed I’d made for myself.

I’m such a terrible pony..

*************************************************************************************

I eventually fell asleep, despite the pain in my leg, and was woken by softer whispering voices. I heard somepony trotting towards me, and it had a different cadence than Victory Charm. I looked up, expecting more pain, and saw Olive Loaf grinning. I knew how I looked- tears on my cheeks, blood caking my wound, my eyes likely puffy, and my nose leaking from my intense crying spell before. My hangover was lessened, but not gone, and I looked down again.

“You’re going to sell me to slaver ponies. Aren’t you.”

“O-ho yeah I am. An it’s gonna be soooo much woise than my little stay. You’s is goin to tha Rust Horde.”

Terror once again hit me like a supersledge, and I shook harder. “Th...the... “

“Yep! Theya gonna work ya to tha bone, an if ya don’ work y’self to the grave, they’ll string y’up in a manner that’ll make a Raider quake!” He jabbed my leg, and I howled. “...an don’ expect that ta make them take it any easier on ya! They’s gonna make you work even when that li’l woun’ theyah ends up gettin’ infected. Wondah what task they’ll give ya if ya only got three legs!” He cackled, and I almost began to cry.. Until I closed my eyes, and sighed.

“It’s no better than I deserve.”

Olive Loaf was, clearly, not expecting that. “Wh...what? Yer s’poseta be cryin in ya bardin!”

I didn’t give him the satisfaction. “Why should I? You sobbed, and begged for your life before you were slapped in irons by slavers. I wouldn’t expect any more mercy than I gave you.”

He looked taken aback, and then stamped his hoof- pain blossomed through my skull again. “Well don’ think that’ll get ya off tha hook! Ye’re still goina go theyah an they’s gonna make you’s wish y’all had been killed!” He stomped off, less confident than before, and I laid my head on my hooves again, waiting for the slavers to arrive.

I spared a thought or two to Victory Charm. The only pony I’d ever gotten even vaguely close to, and with one fell swoop, she’d decided to leave me behind to a fate far worse than just getting a bullet to the brain. Olive Loaf, the darkest stain from my past- at least that I could think of at the moment- was getting the justice he’d long deserved. My own persona was broken- I had laid bare the real pony underneath my attempt to harden myself against the wasteland. I wasn’t some hardened mercenary. I’d done horrible things, sure. Slavery, murder, theft- all of the things the wasteland promoted and thrived on. But I didn’t enjoy doing them. I wasn’t a raider.. I was just... a pony. A terrible, heartless, jaded pony, who had pushed everypony away because I was too weak to resist the pull of the wasteland.

I wasn’t being strong by letting the wasteland win.

I was being weak.

And now, it was time to pay for my weakness.

*************************************************************************************************

As I heard more whispers, raspier and angrier, I knew the Rust Horde ponies had already arrived. I did not shed a tear; I did not scream and bang on the bars in an attempt to plead for freedom. I wasn’t angry, or even .. well, no, that was a lie. I was terrified. Fear was almost all I could feel, but I wasn’t going to show it. Let me be afraid.

I’m sure Olive Loaf was even more terrified than I was when I stabbed him in the back.

It had been five years since we had met in Goatsprings. Such a stupid name for a town, I’d always thought, but never let myself mention it. Ponies aren’t likely to give you any extra caps when you insult their hometown. I had met with a greasy lout named Olive Loaf, who I knew by his absolutely unnaturally orange mane and drab, contrasting coat. I didn’t trust him- nopony could be trusted in the wasteland, after all- but I knew he could smooth talk ponies far better than I could. The contract was simple- capture a murderer, and sell him to the slavers. 500 caps for each of us, plus a bonus of 3000 if he was brought in alive. “Want to make him suffer” they’d said, “Killed one of our ponies. Alive is better. Justice is worth some, but not as much.” I wasn’t going to complain;more caps, and I could easily keep somepony alive and unconscious. I even bought a special rifle for it- tranquilizers enough to knock a Hellhound out cold with only two darts.

We met in the town around midnight, formulating the plan- Olive’d talk to the murderer and convince him to go behind the saloon, and I’d unload some darts into the poor sod and cart him over to the slavers. Exchange of caps, and we were good to go.

I waited out back for the murderer and the slimy snake unicorn to come out back. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten turned to half an hour. I finally grew impatient, went into the bar through the back door, and looked around...

...Only to feel a bottle hit the back of my head. Slimy bastard didn’t expect me to be fine, if pissed off, and buck him right into the murderer, who was poised to stab me with a kitchen knife. When he saw he was outmatched, he did the first thing that popped into his head and shot the murderer in the forehead, As the murderer slumped to the ground, the saloon ponies screaming into the night, I cornered the Olive-coated prick and demanded to know why he hit me.

“T-The bastahd tol’ me I had ta smack ya or he’d kill me! Y’have ta believe me, buddy! Ol buddy?” I stamped closer. “...Ol pal?”

Fwip. Fwip.

He fell like a sack of potatoes, flopping over unconscious. Damn fine magical poison, that was. I dragged the bastard and the murderer out, travelling about a mile with two ponies on my back, and met the slavers. I tossed the corpse of the murderer at them (they spat on him for good measure) and I brokered a deal. I’d sell them another slave for 1,500 caps, plus the cost of the dead serial killer. They agreed, just in time for Olive Loaf to awaken from his stupor. I grunted and kicked him, right in the nose, sending blood dripping down his nose as the slavers tried to pin him down. I watched him, crying, and sobbing, and pleading for forgiveness and begging me to save him. In response, I tossed the sack of caps into my pack and turned back on him, hearing the click and the telltale beep of a bomb collar. I looked back at him, delivered my coldest stare, and gave him the most stinging sendoff I could.

“Goodbye Olive Loaf. maybe next time you try to stab somepony in the back, you’ll... well, to be honest, you’ll probably lose your head.” And with that, I trotted away, hearing him sobbing as he was dragged to his new, self-made hell.

I made 2000 caps off that transaction, got rid of a thorn in my side, fulfilled the contract, and moved on. I never really thought of the slimy fucker again, until i found him holding a gun to my throat. I never really had felt bad until this moment- before it had just seemed like a fair retaliation, an eye for an eye.

And now, I knew exactly how he’d felt.

I kept my head down as the slaver looked me over. Rust Horde were easy to place- hoofball pads, adorned with rusted knives (they rusted them on purpose to give anypony unlucky enough to face them a wicket case of tetanus) and cruelly-shod spiked horseshoes. I knew what they did to ponies- most things so vile even I had balked when I heard of them- but I also knew what they did to slaves. Slaves in most places were treated well enough to keep them servile, and capable of working. More efficient workers if they were in decent shape.

Rust Horders weren’t quite that generous.

If a slave underperformed, they were forced to work with rusty nails driven into their hooves. For each mistake, another nail was driven in, and they were forced to work through the pain. Unicorns and the unlucky Enclave who got caught had their horns and wings sawn off with a rusty bonesaw, bandaged enough to keep them from bleeding out, and sent to work immediately. If they got fed they were lucky- most slaves were forced to work while starving, dehydrated, and exhausted. If somepony died, they were strung up with rusty implements everywhere they could fit, and showcased to teach other slaves what would happen if they fucked up.

And all of that was what was going to happen to me, because I’d sold a back-stabbing, two-timing no-good-yellow-bellied son-of-a-bitch to a couple random assholes.

But that was fine.

I’d done this to myself, after all.

Only fai-

A massive explosion wracked the town, and half of the town hall was torn apart. Splinters rained down, and the Rust Horde warrior grinned wide, speaking in a ragged voice. “DON’T WORRY, I’LL BE BACK FOR YOU SOON! AHAHA!” and he ran out, drawing a massive sword into his teeth with a wicked, rust-marred blade. I looked around, in my cage, and sighed. I buckled down,tucking hooves under my torso, closing my eyes and waited for my just desserts in the last peaceful moments I’d ever have,

Only to hear the sound of the cage lock clicking.

I stood, head held high, waiting to be dragged to my atonement... and was astonished to see Victory Charm with a key in her teeth. I must have looked surprised, because she spat out the key and smiled.

“Come on now. You didn’t really think I’d go turncoat, did you? Come on. We need to get out while they’re distracted.” She pushed her head under my hoof, helping me to my hooves out from the cage, and I felt my guts twist in conflicted confusion and relief. She helped me limp out of the cage, and put a pistol in my teeth, prompting me to lick the trigger. It tasted like whisky.

She and I slowly snuck out of the hole in the wall, trying to stay in the darkness while the Rust Horde ponies fought tooth, hoof and blade with the slavers and ne’er-do-wells of the town. One unicorn blew the head off of a Ruster with a sawn-off, only to have their throat sliced messily with a spray of crimson; another Ruster stomped the back of the head of a grey-maned grey-furred earth pony who was biting a wooden step, teeth shattering and the life leaving his eyes with a sickening crunch; and still another slaver with a scarf around her neck was brutally impaled on a rusted, sadistically-spiked helmet, the horn of the Ruster glowing and causing the chest to expand till chunks flew all over the Ruster’s barding, his grin spread in sadistic glee.

We trotted as quickly as we could, until a Ruster saw us, aiming a pony repeater with his magic while he wrenched the jaw of an unlucky earth pony so wide it snapped, prompting a gurgling scream before his neck was snapped and he was dead as dust. The Ruster started operating the lever and trigger as fast as he could, and I found myself throwing victory into the trees and diving in behind with her in a burst of adrenaline. The tree splintered but did not give, peppered by .357 rounds that left it smoking. The two of us braced ourselves, and I turned around the corner- weakened and tired, I pulled the trigger no less than 4 times, missing him completely. The fifth, however, tore into the Ruster’s face, leaving a gaping hole where his cheekbone would’ve been. To my horror, though, he just screamed and ran at us. I saw Victory Charm charging a magical blast, and I hunkered behind the tree just as the Ruster got point-blank and was torn to shreds by the massive explosion of raw magical energy. His bones turned to ash before my eyes, and the ruster was gone.

Unfortunately, now the others knew where we were. And Victory looked absolutely exhausted; no chance of another miraculous nuking. Before I knew it, a hail of gunfire was coming our way, and as one bullet passed cleanly through her left hoof (passing through and prompting a scream), I felt that fury and rage overcome me, granting me the temporary strength to pick her up and gallop at full tilt into the night. Bullets continued to rain after us- one bit into the same leg that’d been shot by Olive before, and I fought back a roar as I dragged my weak, worthless leg behind me as I charged into the old broken-down gas station at the end of the road. I pushed the door open, already feeling myself come down from the anger high, and only had enough time to put her down and weakly buck a little waiting table into the door, jamming it shut before blackness began to creep into the corners of my perception. As pain and unconsciousness took me, I only had a single thought- Victory, please. Stay safe. And i collapsed, out cold for the fourth time that day.

**********************************************************************************************

Every corpse screamed, and were joined by an olive-coloured pony with a sickly orange glow around their eyes. The screams unified as the corpses melted, forming a massive, putrid, disgusting wave of skin, fur and teeth screaming in an unholy voice so powerful that Tartarus itself shook as the wave consumed the Ivory-and-Rust being, his own vocal chords fused with the beast as his screams joined their own.

Mother. A difficult pony. He was sure she loved him- even if she refused to acknowledge it- but she had a strange way of showing it. Every day, she beat him; “Have to toughen up” she would say. “Weakness has no place in the wastes” she would scream. “Your father wasn’t strong!” would be the phrase she used the least- partially out of grief, and partially because every time she did, her rage and punishing blows would give way to a pitiful sobbing and holding her son close. He was sure she loved him.

But he could no longer feel love for her.

Slow. Nice and slow. I woke up slowly; there were no screams; there was no banging at the door; no explosions; a dull throbbing in my head, and a screaming one in my leg, and a soft pain everywhere else, but not dead. If anything the pain made that the clearest- I was still alive, by some miracle. Celestia and Luna, thank you for keeping me.. I startled fully awake when I realized I’d almost forgotten Victory, but a caring hoof forced my head back down. It held a bottle of red liquid to my lips, and I drank greedily. All at once, I felt my head throb more softly, and my leg’s pain slow. It wasn’t a healing potion; but a strong brandy, which I was not in the mood to turn away from. I hugged the bottle and the hoof eagerly, gulping down as much as I could before it was ripped away from me.

Victory smiled wearily down at me. “Don’t drink it all; I need you at least a little awake when we do this.” Softly, gently, she laid me back, and I watched her move to my burning hoof. She held a pair of tweezers, and I felt myself lurch from nerves- even still, she pinned me down, a soft shushing from her lips as she held me down and the brandy started to do its work on my pain receptors. She looked into my eyes, and I found myself captivated by them again- I didn’t like mares, but her eyes were so beautiful I couldn-

“OW!” I felt the tweezer enter my leg, and grit my teeth against the long line of swear words I was inclined toward. She pinned my chest (was she that strong or was I that weak?) as she pulled on the bullet, my hoof blossoming in pain as the second wound was forced open. I felt blood dripping down my leg, and as she tossed it aside, the tweezer in the cleft of her own hoof, she took the brandy, and held it up.

“I’m sorry. But this... is going to suck.”

Oh goddesses it really was wasn’t it? She poured a generous amount of brandy into the wounds, the burning alcohol like somepony were putting a hot poker into the already deep gaps in my skin. I knew it would purify it, but OWWWWWWWW! She poured the last of the brandy into the wound, and pulled out a cloth from her tail, holding it down on the leg. “Here. I need you to put pressure on this. Now.” I wasn’t in the mood to argue, especially not with her, and I pushed it hard onto the wound; the throbbing pain was still nearly unbearable, but as she pulled out a bottle of strong healing potion from her tail-hidden saddlebags, and she put it up to my lips forcing me to drink. I drank down the potion, coppery and lukewarm, and didn’t stop until it was completely and utterly empty. I felt the skin and nerves of my poor leg stitching themselves shut, not with pain but with a soft warmth like hugging a pillow under a heat lamp.

I panted hard from the stimulation, and my vision went blurry again. “Aah.. c-can’t... “ and felt the blood loss drag me back under the waves of sleep.

**************************************************************************************

Mercifully, this time my dreams weren’t full of painful memories or terrifying screams. In fact, I must have been even deeper out, because I did not dream once. I remembered my eyes fluttering open once or twice- emerald eyes, concerned and brimming with worry, regarded me, and I felt what I was pretty sure was a smile as my eyes drifted closed again.

Hours. Hours, days, months, it could have... well, okay, not months. A day at most or so. When my eyes finally opened completely, enough blood reproduced by my body to keep me awake, I saw Victory Charm gallop over to me. “Hey there sleepy head. Finally awake? Good.” a sigh. “Goddesses, you had me w-”

I wrapped my forelegs around her tightly, and buried my head into her chest. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, so, unbelievably, unendingly sorry!” I felt the burning shame in my chest, and as I gripped her tightly, the only pony I’d ever let get this close (that I wasn’t paying for), and felt years and years of guilt and shame flood me. I expected her to shove me away- it would have been right for her to- but instead, she seemed grateful I was alive. “C-celestia alive, please don’t leave!” I was making a foal of myself, but I didn’t care- I couldn’t let her slip away from me again. “I need you! You’re the only pony who’s ever made me feel anything, please, I can’t lose you. I’ll do anything, I promise, I’ll never be a bad pony again!”

Her voice was soft, the same soft tone she’d given me that first night when I retched out of disgust, or earlier when I had passed out from the pain. “I won’t. I won’t Blood Drop. I won’t leave you.” I tried to grit my teeth, to keep the floodgates from opening; showing the weakness the wasteland.. I mentally bucked myself full force. What weakness? The weakness that could have saved a pony from slavery? A weakness that had let me save a pony who I barely knew? I tried, and I wanted so badly to retreat under the mask of safe, angry and cold indifference. I wanted it, it was safe. But that mask was what had robbed her of being able to say she’d never killed, or ignored Olive’s pleas as he was taken for a doomed life of servitude. The more I thought about it, all of the pain I’d caused ponies because I thought that was what I was supposed to do, bore down on me like an anvil and chains, and I did the only thing I knew to do.

I broke down.

It was shameful. A pathetic display- a rust-maned, ivory-coated earth pony, normally so tough and ready to take on the wasteland, was sobbing and choking like a foal. Tears streamed down my cheeks in rivers, my nose leaked disgusting mucous into her chest fur, and my body heaved and shook, wracked by grief and guilt. I sobbed, like I had made her cry the day or two days before when I’d screamed at her to give up her innocence. I pleaded, like the Olive pony pleaded for his life when the slavers dragged him away. I ached, like I had when I had ripped apart a raider to save a unicorn I’d never seen before. I cried for everything I’d done; I cried for every kindness I’d spurned; I cried for every emotion I’d suppressed; and in the end, I cried because I needed to.

And in this moment, for these... minutes or hours that fear, and terror, and self-loathing coursed through me, dripping from my eyes and wrenching my heart, I was in the caring arms of a pony I’d only known for a grand total of three days. The pony who’s life I’d saved; who I’d cursed at, and screamed at; who despite barely knowing her, had assumed the worst of; a pony I had put to tears; a pony who had saved my life; a pony who I had gotten shot for; and the pony who was the catalyst for a massive shift in who I was.

She took it in stride, my little breakdown- alright, my MASSIVE breakdown. Despite my choking and sobbing, completely ruining her coat, she still held me tightly, and I felt safe despite not feeling like I deserved to. Every time I pleaded, every time I grasped and begged, she would stroke my mane and assure me it was going to be alright, and that she wasn’t going to go anywhere. Every apology was answered with a gentle caress. It seemed like forever, and I had peeled off the callous on my heart, leaving it bleeding and raw. Eventually, though it felt like an eternity, my sobbing silenced; my choking ceased; my tears ran dry; and my hooves and forelegs released their death-grip on my chosen savior. Emotionally and physically exhausted, she tucked my head under hers, holding me close against the wall, and the two of us simply slept.

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We stayed in the small gas station for a few days while we rested and recuperated. There was an un-found stash of canned food and bottled, pure water deeper in the store, and we were able to eat and drink comfortably as we healed. My leg had mended, but the gaps in my coat were not closing. The way things were, I figured it was good that it scarred- I figured that a scar on my leg would be a good reminder of what I’d been through so far. A second night, we sat together and ate a few cans of old beans, and I had built a small fire (with a cracked window so we didn’t suffocate). As we sat in silence, I looked at the mare sitting across the fire, and said simply, “Thank you.”

“For whaf?” she muttered around a spoonful of beans.

“If I hadn’t saved you, I would never have been in that place. If I hadn’t... screamed... at you... we wouldn’t have gotten drunk.” She looked at me with pity as I continued. “If... we hadn’t been drunk, I never would have gotten kidnapped by Olive Loaf. And if he hadn’t captured me... I would never have known the despair he had to deal with. You...” I struggled to find the words, my vocal chords refusing to let me have this easy. “...you’re making me... a bit better. Of a pony, I mean.” I looked down, ashamed again at my own inability to be sincere.

She trotted over to me, and sling a forehoof over me, hugging me tight. “You know I never meant ... mmmmmmmmost of the things I said there right? I had to convince them I was turning on you. I... I WAS angry, yknow. I was very angry. But after learning what he did to you, I ... well, I can’t understand it but..” She looked irritated as she dug the hole deeper, but hugged me tightly again. “I just want you to know, I don’t hate you. I don’t think you’ve been a good pony out here, but... I get the feeling it was a defense. Just... please, Blood dr-”

“No! I uh...” I looked sheepish. “My name ... erm... well, you’ll laugh.”

She shook her head. “I’ll try my best.”

“Blood Drop isn’t my actual name. My birth name....”

Victory encouraged “Is?”

“...Sugar Drop.”

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*

Level Up: Ain’t Like That Now- You’ve been a very bad pony in the past, but you ain’t like that now. Your Karma has been reset to 0, but your deeds will still haunt you...

((Full disclosure, I’ve never submitted a story before; this is my first, and it would be much appreciated to receive some feedback so I can improve. So if you like it, let me know! If not, be constructive if you would, please! I can’t exactly get worse! I can’t grow without advice.))